


Hostage

by maqcy



Series: Whumptober 2018 [18]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Anger, Angst, Cutting, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Depression, Fainting, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, I Don't Even Know, Kid Fic, Knife Wounds, Knives, Mental Anguish, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Neglect, Non-Sexual Bondage, Non-Sexual Slavery, Sick Character, Slavery, Sort Of, Torture, Trust Issues, Unresolved Tension, Whump, Whumptober, anger issues, but not self-harm, but this is seriously very dark, hostage, the kid is kept out of all the dark stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-09 00:43:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16439867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maqcy/pseuds/maqcy
Summary: When humans tried to wipe out another species, Andreas, a human solider, was left alone with no job, a medal he didn't want, and an enemy slave. Unable to deal with what he's lost, he takes his anger out on his slave, until something happens to change his fractured life.





	1. Hostage I

**Author's Note:**

> ...hi!  
>  Apologies to anyone who was following along with my whumptober series; as you probably noticed, i dropped off the earth for a while. I have a bunch of excuses but here's the fic i was stuck on; it's long, pretty dark (please check the tags, even if you're used to my stuff - the start is probably the worst bit). i started it when my head was being a shitty mess, so i guess that's why its more messed up than usual, i dunno. It doesn't entirely fit with the prompt 'hostage', but I hope it's close enough.  
> I do hope to finish the whumptober prompts eventually, fingers crossed.  
> Anyway, thanks to Imperial_Dragon who is amazing. Any remaining mistakes mine.

Blood wept down the zafrire’s chin like drool, stark against his sandy-yellow skin. Andreas glowered at the disgusting creature, sheened with sweat and his eyes, the irises a darker yellow, drifting in and out of focus.

The blood on the zafrire’s chin dripped into his lap as Andreas was glaring at the creature, and the barn’s windows trembled with the force of a gust of wind from outside. Andreas had a knife pressed up against the creature’s thigh and he clenched his hand around the knife’s handle. Then, forcing himself not to press too deeply, as much as he wanted to, he drew it across the zafrire’s bare leg, digging through skin and scant flesh.

The zafrire’s breathing became ragged, a harsh groan on each exhale, and his head dropped forward, his brown hair trembling where it hung, long and mangled, in front of his face. His feet scuffed the dusty ground beneath the chair legs ineffectively and his hands twitched in their restraints. Andreas grabbed the male’s jaw, digging his fingers into the sharp bones of the zafrire’s jaw and forced his head up just before Andreas pulled away to slice across another stretch of skin.

Andreas watched the pain on the zafrire’s face with apathy overlaid with a low pleasure. _You’re in pain and I’m not_ , he thought, but it wasn’t really true. Irritated at his own thoughts, Andreas took the knife away and then drew it across again, pressing as deep as he dared, crosshatching the other cuts like a tally.

The zafrire cried out sharply enough that Andreas leaned backwards with a snarl and smacked him across the face, his palm stinging with the force. The zafrire, shaking in small jerks, grit his teeth and narrowed his pained eyes. There wasn’t any humanity there and Andreas thought about what if it had been _this_ zafrire, this very one, that had- that had-

The zafrire choked when Andreas snatched the knife away carelessly and the male went tense, clearly expecting Andreas to cut him again, to add to the wounds which were scattered randomly up the creature’s thigh, welling up with blood. The zafrire’s faster-than-human healing would mean the cuts sealed up quickly enough, but they still scarred and the zafrire was now littered with mismatched stripes over both legs and his chest, paler than his natural skin pigment. Andreas had read a little about zafrire healing soon after he’d gotten the creature, wanting to know how far he could go with hurting him before his healing couldn’t repair the damage. So Andreas knew the scarring would start fading given a month or so, but, as it was, he could see the full extent of what he’d done to the zafrire.

His fingers twitched around the knife handle and thoughts of driving it straight into the creature’s ribcage flashed through his head before he drew a shaky breath and stopped himself.

 _Mustn’t_ _kill it_ , he remembered, and looked up with slightly less anger and slightly more clarity at the zafrire’s sweat-slick face and exhausted, glassy eyes. There was enough blood on his leg and on the floor, and on Andreas too, that Andreas forced himself to acknowledge that he had to stop, for now.

Andreas shoved his anger down to where he kept it when he wasn’t here, wasn’t torturing the zafrire, and schooled his mask as he straightened. The zafrire didn’t move or look up; his head remained hanging forwards with his gaze fixed blankly on the bare ground. He looked broken. _Good_ , Andreas thought vindictively.

Andreas walked over to the barn tap, which had a large metal trough half-full of water under it, and he tossed the bloody knife into the water before crouching to briefly wash his hands, watching the swirls of red dissipate in the water while feeling not much at all. He had lived with this huge, jagged pain inside of him for such a long time that the small splinters he caused himself by brutalising the zafrire hardly registered anymore. He needed to see the zafrire suffer, needed to release something of the huge, seething anger that was barely tethered inside of him, more than he needed the pain inside him to stop hurting.

Hands dripping with water now, Andreas went and picked up some of the strips of cloth, rags he kept in a chest on the floor, alongside a table which had various other…things spread out on it. He’d had the zafrire three weeks now and he intended to keep the creature alive for as long as he could, because he wouldn’t be getting another enemy slave easily. And if Andreas didn’t have the zafrire here, he was afraid he would _snap_ and kill someone; a civilian, or an officer- somebody who didn’t deserve it. The zafrire wasn’t innocent; he was the enemy, wasn’t even human.

Andreas bound the zafrire’s bloody leg with quick movements, like he’d done for himself and others on the battlefield, only with far less care. The zafrire would be fine without the cuts being bound, but the bindings would stop him losing too much blood, at least.

Andreas fetched a cup of water, taking a grip of the zafrire’s hair with repressed disgust and jerked his head up. The zafrire made a soft noise of protest and his lip twitched. Andreas pushed the rim of the cup to the zafrire’s lips and blood-tacky lips parted as the zafrire gulped at the water messily, Andreas’s antipathy only deepening. The creature needed feeding, too, if his healing was to work effectively but the zafrire looked out of it enough that Andreas thought he’d just choke if Andreas tried to push bread into his mouth now. He’d do it later, when the wasps under his skin had been pushed further down and he felt less like he might fly apart at the seams. The insects were still too close to the surface; always were for a while after he allowed them up.

*

The zafrire got weaker over the next few weeks and Andreas found himself having to stop sooner and sooner as the zafrire’s eyes glazed over.

“You’re pathetic,” he groused at the barely conscious zafrire, but he left him alone, going away to wash his knives. He managed to keep his fury under wraps for the following week, watching like a hawk when he fed the zafrire, three times a day and as much as the zafrire could swallow down. The zafrire got brighter, colour returning to his skin so that he didn’t look quite so gaunt and his eyes tracking Andreas as he moved around. But he was still weak and Andreas had to physically manhandle him to the outhouse so that the zafrire could relieve himself.

He started walking the zafrire around the barn, at first barely a few steps before the zafrire struggled, but later a full lap, and then two.

Andreas bought a leash and waved it at the zafrire, who was looking almost back to full health. Good. Andreas couldn’t wait to bleed it out of him again, and the zafrire seemed to be able to read Andreas’s bloodlust in his face because his wariness of Andreas never dropped away, even when Andreas was feeding him.

Andreas put the leash around the zafrire’s neck from behind, somewhat wary of the zafrire’s teeth, although the creature actually had blunter teeth than humans, and he hadn’t shown any proclivity to biting.

The zafrire’s breath caught at the feeling of the leather at his neck and Andreas fisted a handful of the creature’s coarse, brown hair, long enough that Andreas could get a proper hold on it.

“We’re going for a walk,” he told the zafrire flatly. “And if you do anything to displease me, I will inject you with things that will make you want to die, but you won’t. And I will inject you with them for weeks and you still won’t die, and I will still cut you. Do you understand?”

The zafrire nodded with a jerk, or tried to, with Andreas’s hand still twisted tight in his hair.

“Say it,” Andreas ordered.

“I understand,” the zafrire growled in a rough voice. Andreas hadn’t heard much of it and he didn’t want to.

“Good,” Andreas snapped. He untied the zafrire from the chair and chained his wrists together as he did when he was taking the zafrire out to piss. The zafrire had yet to try to make a run for it, but he hadn’t had an opportunity like this, not when he was this well. Andreas was looking forward to taking the zafrire apart again, but he wanted to build the zafrire’s strength up fully again, and that meant that he had to be hale enough to take outside. And why not take the zafrire to the market, since Andreas had to go anyway.

Andreas dragged the zafrire to his feet by his cuffed wrists and then, the leash also in his hand, he headed out of the barn, the zafrire following behind him willingly enough. It wasn’t far to the town market, only ten minutes’ walk, but the zafrire began to struggle just as they were getting close, and Andreas came to a halt to glare at him, finding the creature’s cheeks flushed and his chest huffing up and down with breaths. Andreas drew on his very small remaining well of patience and turned sharply around, resigning himself to not making it to the market today. As it was, the zafrire was exhausted by the time they got back and he was falling asleep in the chair almost as soon as Andreas had finished tying him into it.

Andreas tried again, a few days later, walking the zafrire around the barn each day. It took an irritating amount of time, between the feeding and the walking and taking him to the outhouse, but it was hardly like Andreas had much else to do. He didn’t have a job anymore, only his shitty army pension and an empty home.

It was raining when Andreas tugged the zafrire out of the barn. The creature had been sleeping when Andreas came in and he still looked bleary eyed, but he woke up fully after a few minutes in the rain and the cold, shivering, though Andreas had put a tunic on him, and put trousers on over his worn underwear.

The zafrire walked all the way this time, though his breathing still became laboured when climbing the small incline at the end. Vaguely irritated, Andreas paused to shove the zafrire roughly backwards so that he fell sharply on his ass onto the wet grass at the edge of the path with a noise of shock. He shot an uncertain glance up at Andreas, who looked coldly back at him. The zafrire went hesitantly to get back up but Andreas shot him a hard glare and the zafrire stilled and stayed there, in the grass.

Andreas waited, rain dripped down his waxed cloak, until the zafrire had caught his breath, and then clicked his fingers followed by a jerk on the leash around the zafrire’s neck. The zafrire coughed but came quickly enough to his feet and Andreas headed into town with the zafrire in tow.

The market was bustling and Andreas, sighing slightly, remembered that it was the second Saturday of the month and therefore trading day. It would make everything slower with the heavier crowds, but there would be more choice.

He tugged the zafrire behind him, keeping a firm hold on both the chain between the zafrire’s hands and the leash around his neck, but he hadn’t even caught the zafrire looking around. Either Andreas’s threats had worked, or something else was stopping the zafrire from trying to get away. Andreas was glad the creature wasn’t testing his patience, regardless, because he had little enough of it. Dipping his hand into his pocket, he checked his list and then set off for the first item.

By the time Andreas had gotten everything he needed, he almost forgotten the zafrire trailing behind him. The creature didn’t resist his pulls and he hadn’t called any attention to itself, but stayed quiet and still while Andreas questioned the tradespeople and bartered, carrying the bag of Andreas’s purchases silently. Andreas bumped into an old soldiering friend and exchanged brief words with her, though he’d kept his answers deliberately short, not wanting to prolong the conversation. He didn’t feel fit for company, these days, and he had no wish to encourage old friendships to blossom again and she left him alone soon enough.

After that, Andreas found himself wandering through the crowds with less purpose, the zafrire in hand. He ended up in the side of the market that dealt in zafrire slaves, all of them selling for far more than Andreas’s pension could allow for, even the most damaged ones. Andreas’s zafrire had been a gift that came with his medal for outstanding courage. The medal he’d shoved to the back of a drawer, never wanting to see it again, but the zafrire had been a relief.

Andreas halted at the edge of the auction grounds where zafrire were being shown off and sold. He glanced briefly at the zafrire at his side, but he had his gaze on the ground and wasn’t showing any reaction to seeing his kind sold off as beasts. Perhaps the creatures didn’t even feel compassion for one another; Andreas had certainly seen no sign of it and he shook his head as he walked away, tugging harshly on the zafrire’s restraints, though the creature hadn’t been resisting.

At the edge of the auction grounds there were stalls selling things related to owning a zafrire; collars, restraints, and various implements. Andreas scanned over them briefly but he didn’t have the coin to spare, and he preferred his simple knives regardless.

He heard a sharp call over the rumbling chatter of the market and the louder calling of the auctioneer and he saw the zafrire twitch for the first time. Andreas looked curiously at him and found the creature staring off behind Andreas with a deep frown on his face.

“Lurndi!” Andreas was watching the zafrire as he heard the cry, closer, and he was taken aback at the raw emotion on the creature’s face; pain and desire twisted up. Andreas turned sharply around to follow where the zafrire was staring at, only for a small person – creature? – suddenly come hurting towards him, or no, not towards him, but straight at his zafrire.

“Lurndi Sathan!” the small creature cried, before they leapt at the zafrire, who barely caught them as Andreas jerked away in shock, and dragged at the zafrire’s throat by accident, his hold on the zafrire’s chained wrists pulled free.

Andreas tensed warily, his hand clenching around the zafrire’s leash, but the male didn’t move and Andreas realised that the creature that had run at the zafrire was in fact a child; a zafrire child with the same shade of sandy skin as the zafrire, but female with longer, darker brown hair.

“Lurndi Sathan,” she said, clinging to Andreas’s zafrire with a kind of desperation. The zafrire looked no less affected, but was looking down at the girl in his arms with blatant shock.

“Lilin?” he murmured, before slowly crouching to set the girl on the floor, but she didn’t want to let go. “Lilin?” the zafrire said.

Andreas frowned at the pair of them and wondered what ‘lurndi’ meant. Sathan sounded like a name, perhaps ‘lurndi’ was a title. He watched them silently, before looking up and around for the girl’s owner and saw that a group of zafrire were huddled together with three minders watching them with batons in their hands. Likely the girl had slipped free of them, and, as Andreas watched, a man came striding over, intent on the child currently clinging to the zafrire.

Andreas’s zafrire seemed to take that moment to realise that Andreas was still stood there and Andreas saw his face blanch as he flinched. The zafrire took a firm grip on the girl and pulled her off him.

“Lurndi!” she cried, sounding hurt. “Don’t you remember me? Don’t you-”

“Hush,” Andreas’s zafrire said firmly, his eyes looking up at Andreas from where he was crouched on the floor. He stood slowly, dropping his gaze away from Andreas’s, but his whole body remained on guard, the girl, Lilin, pushed firmly behind him and out of Andreas’s sight.

The minder finally got through the crowd to reach them and he seized the little girl’s arm roughly. Andreas’s zafrire twitched like he wanted to do something but he didn’t. Andreas frowned at the roughly grip the minder had on the girl’s arm and the way the child’s face screwed up, not like she was going to cry, but like she was used to being handled roughly and was determined to bottle it up. It made something twist in Andreas’s belly to see that expression on a child. She couldn’t have been older than six, which would have been the age-

“Apologies for the disturbance,” the minder muttered in Andreas’s direction, before he went to stalk away, dragging the child after him, but the girl, Lilin, screamed suddenly and bit the minder’s wrist, making him shriek in shock, releasing her.

Lilin launched herself at the zafrire who stiffened, looking torn between wanting to hold her close and wanting her away from Andreas, judging from the guarded look the zafrire sent Andreas’s way, and how he pulled Lilin off him for a second time and pushed her behind him, out of Andreas’s sight, shielding her. Andreas narrowed his eyes at the zafrire, who was respectfully keeping his head down, but seemed ready to defend the child all the same.

“Goddammit you little shit,” the minder snapped and tried to grab Lilin again, only for her to scuttle out of the way, still clinging to the zafrire that she seemed to know.

“Lilin, you must go with him,” the zafrire told her quietly, urgently.

Lilin looked shocked and broken-hearted, and her lip trembled as it hadn’t when the minder had grabbed her. “But you’re my lurndi,” she pleaded. “Don’t you love me? Amie and Dondi are gone.”

The zafrire looked at her with obvious pain and Andreas blinked to see it there, to see the obvious care the creature had for the child. What were they; family? Or was the zafrire some kind of family friend?

The minder reached again to take the child but Andreas put his hand out, drawing both the minder’s and the zafrire’s attention, but not Lilin’s, who was focused solely on her lurndi, whatever that meant.

“How much for her?” Andreas found himself saying.

“No,” the zafrire breathed. “No, _no_ , please-” Andreas felt fingers grasping at his arm and he turned with a snarl to backhand the zafrire, his anger exploding at the sheer fucking audacity he had to grab at Andreas, to refuse him. The zafrire looked briefly dazed but it didn’t last. He stared at Andreas, openly pleading, but Andreas just scowled at him, before turning back to the minder.

The minder had his arms folded. “What do you want with her?” he asked with a bad-tempered scowl. Andreas could see the bite mark on his hand from Lilin’s blunt teeth.

Andreas looked back at him flatly, “The child seems attached to him, doesn’t she?” he said.

“Please,” the zafrire said lowly, behind Andreas. “Please, sir, master, leave her be.” Andreas ignored him.

The minder looked at Andreas for another moment before shrugging. “Whatever,” he said. “Five hundred.”

Andreas snorted, “For a disobedient girl-child?” he said. “Heavens, no. One hundred.”

The minder glared at him, “Four.”

“One-fifty,” Andreas argued.

They went back and forth until they reached an agreement at two-twenty-five, which was stretching Andreas’s budget enough as it was and he only just had enough money on him to pay the minder. The minder just grunted and fished the girl’s papers out of a folder and pushed them on Andreas, before he walked off, leaving Andreas with a much lighter purse and a small child he had no idea what to do with. Dammit.

He heard the zafrire hiss something and he turned sharply around to see the zafrire pushing at Lilin, imploring her, apparently trying to get her to leave, but she was clinging to him.

“Lilin, run,” the zafrire growled and pulled the girl’s hands more roughly off him and pushed her away. Andreas’s anger reemerged and he jerked the zafrire’s leash sharply, making him choke as his chained hands came up to the collar around his throat and he shot a panicked look at Andreas. Andreas realised he’d seen more emotion from the zafrire in these last twenty minutes than he had during the whole month or so he’d had the zafrire in his possession.

“Don’t push her,” Andreas snapped, and then crouched down in front of the child, who looked on the verge of tears, her fists clenched at her sides. Andreas heard the zafrire inhale sharply, clearly thinking that Andreas would harm the girl, but he had no intention of doing so. He would not hurt a child, not ever.

“Lilin, isn’t it?” he said gently. He felt out of practice at softening his face and his voice.

Lilin sniffled and nodded. “You hurt lurndi,” she said sulkily and Andreas huffed a sigh and nodded.

“Yes,” he said. “What does ‘lurndi’ mean, hm? He’s not your father, is he?”

Lilin shook her head, her limp brown hair trailing down her face. It needed a wash. Lilin didn’t want to answer him and Andreas didn’t push it.

“You want to come with us, stay with your lurndi?” Lilin nodded quickly, looking at Andreas with more hopeful eyes. “Come on, then, kiddo, I’ll carry you, alright?”

She looked at him with far more suspicion than Andreas liked to see in a child and the zafrire shifted, trying to put himself between Lilin and Andreas again, much to Andreas’s annoyance. He stood up to glare at the zafrire, who flinched slightly, but didn’t move.

“Don’t hurt her, please,” he said lowly. “Hurt me, I’ll do as you like, I’ll be quiet; you like me quiet. Please, _please_.”

Andreas stared at the zafrire for a long moment. He saw how much the zafrire cared for the child and he held that power in his hand for a second, considering using it. But he could never hurt that little girl, no matter that she was zafrire. She was innocent, just a child. And Andreas couldn’t threaten to harm her either, the idea made him feel faintly ill. Apparently, amongst all the awful things he knew he could do now, there was still a line in him, and this was it.

“I won’t harm her,” he said to the zafrire, who stared at him. “She is just a child. Now move.”

The zafrire looked at him, utterly unconvinced, but he did move, after a moment, and Andreas crouched back down beside Lilin.

“I won’t hurt you, kiddo,” he said. “Let’s go home, hm? You’re shivering.”

“You have to be nice to lurndi,” she said, and Andreas twitched a slight smile at the courage she had. Andreas remembered- but no, he pulled his head away from the past and forced himself back to where Lilin was looking at him intently with her yellow eyes, which were brighter than the zafrire’s, and full of feeling.

“I’ll try,” he said, promising himself that he wouldn’t harm the zafrire in front of Lilin, not unless he was forced to, anyway. He held out a hand. “Will you come now?” he offered.

Lilin considered for a moment more before she nodded and Andreas carefully scooped her up, putting her on his hip as he stood up. She was far too light for a child her age, even as the zafrire tended to be smaller.

Lilin’s head drooped on Andreas’s shoulder as they walked silently out of town, the zafrire tense at Andreas’s side. The feeling of a child’s head on Andreas’s shoulder was enough to knock the breath out of him but he didn’t allow himself to think about it.

“What does ‘lurndi’ mean?” he asked the zafrire, who looked sideways at him. Andreas saw that the collar had chafed and the zafrire’s left cheek was redder than the right, from where Andreas had hit him. He didn’t feel any remorse for it, nor for any of the other things he’d done, and fully intended to continue doing.

The zafrire didn’t hold Andreas’s eyes but looked down, his shoulders slumped with tiredness. “It means ‘uncle’,” he said.

“Huh,” Andreas muttered. So the zafrire and Lilin _were_ family. “And Sathan? That is a name?”

The zafrire nodded silently and Andreas chewed that over, unsure how he felt about knowing the zafrire’s name. He would have been entirely satisfied to have never known it, but it didn’t matter.

The zafrire, Sathan, was stumbling with exhaustion by the time they reached home, his stamina still poor, but his gaze sharpened instantly when Andreas set Lilin down in the barn and he watched Andreas with a cold intensity.

Andreas just secured Sathan to the chair as he always did and though Sathan tensed, a muscle ticking in his jaw, he didn’t protest. Then Andreas picked Lilin up again, though she squirmed.

“Want to stay with lurndi,” she protested. Andreas hesitated. He’d been intending to hand her over to the widow who lived on his property, cleaning his house, cooking his food and tending to the garden. Andreas knew she’d had children so she’d know how to care for Lilin properly. Andreas had known once, but he’d never been fully involved and-

Dammit, he didn’t usually allow himself to think of- of that. Lilin wriggled again in his arms and Andreas set her down again.

“Are you sure?” he asked. “It’s cold in here and your lurndi has to stay where he is.”

But Lilin just nodded quickly and Andreas sighed, unable to force himself to drag her away when she’d been separated from family for so long. “Very well. I’ll fetch blankets. Be good, alright?” Lilin nodded again and Andreas briefly patted her shoulder before he straightened to shoot Sathan a harsh look.

“You behave, too,” he said, flat enough that Lilin wouldn’t be alarmed, but with enough weight that he was certain Sathan would get the inherent threat. Sathan nodded once and Andreas strode out, locking the barn door behind him.

He fetched blankets and told the housekeeper to bring food and drink over. He’d forbidden her from coming into or close by the barn previously, but he allowed it for now. He brought a few other things, too; a colouring book and pencils that were half worn down and he swallowed to look at them.

Back in the barn, Andreas made what he hoped was a comfortable little nest for Lilin out of the blankets and she snuggled into it contently, accepting one of Andreas’s far too big woollen jumper on over her head, allowing him to roll the sleeves up.

“Warmer, kiddo?” Andreas murmured and she hummed contently,

The housekeeper came in with hot plates of food on a tray. “Sir,” she said briskly to Andreas. They didn’t talk much, because Andreas usually strongly discouraged it. He thought she probably gossiped about his madness to others, but he didn’t much care. He didn’t have a reputation to ruin any longer.

“Una, this is Lilin,” he said stiffly. The housekeeper’s eyebrows rose but she didn’t otherwise react as she brought a plate over to Lilin and Andreas took it. “Lilin, this is Una. She’ll be looking after you a bit, when your lurndi is tired, alright? She’ll be kind to you.” Andreas shot a sharp look at Una that suggested just how pissed he would be if she was anything other than ‘kind’ to the little zafrire girl but Una just looked back at, unimpressed, and proceeded to fuss over the girl, encouraging her to drink some of the hot milk she’d brought with her.

“Lurndi’s hungry too,” Lilin pouted when Una tried to get her to eat more than a few mouthfuls.

“’Lurndi’ means ‘uncle’,” Andreas explained to Una, and then waved in Sathan’s direction. He huffed. “If your lurndi eats, will you?” he said to Lilin and she nodded agreeably. She was a loyal little thing. Most small children were quite focused on their own concerns but she seemed very self-aware, somehow.

So Andreas went over and spooned mouthfuls of food into Sathan’s mouth impassively. He felt nothing towards the male except a vague irritation. The zafrire was a soldier; he’d been wearing a tattered army uniform when he’d been gifted to Andreas. He wasn’t innocent and Andreas had only to imagine the blood Sathan had spilled for his lip to curl and the urge to dig a knife into Sathan returned strong as ever. But the thought of Lilin dissipated his anger and he silently fed Sathan until the plate was empty, not giving the zafrire a second glance before he was returning to Lilin, who Una had been encouraging to eat. Andreas was satisfied that the housekeeper didn’t seem to hold any ill-will towards the child for being zafrire.

“Naturally, I will increase your wages in relation to the amount of time you spend tending to her,” Andreas told Una as the woman was wiping Lilin’s mouth. “Will that suffice?”

“Yes. It’ll be nice to have a-” Una broke off sharply and Andreas clenched his jaw and looked away.

“You may go now,” he said gruffly, irritated with her. “Take Lilin.”

“No!” Lilin said sharply, standing up suddenly and making Andreas blink. “I won’t go!”

Andreas looked at the small, tired, stubborn girl. “It’s just for the night, kiddo,” he said. “Una will look after you, and bring you back here in the morning, if you like.” Lilin frowned at him.

“Want to stay here,” she insisted.

“It’s too cold,” Andreas said, and stood up, gathering up the blankets and shaking them free of dust. “You will go with Una.”

“No!” Lilin said. Andreas handed the blankets to Una.

“Do you need help taking her?” he said to the housekeeper, who smiled wryly and shook her head.

“Come, child,” she said to Lilin, who crossed her arms and planted her feet.

“Go with Una,” Andreas ordered but Lilin just frowned harder.

“Lilin,” Sathan snapped suddenly from the other side of the barn. “Do as you are told.”

Lilin looked at him, betrayed. “But I want to stay with _you_ ,” she whined. Sathan looked sternly back at her and she folded under it, shifting alarmingly quickly from anger to the verge of tears.

“You can come back in the morning,” Andreas said gently and she looked up at him with wide eyes.

“Promise?” she said.

Andreas nodded, “Yes. I swear.”

She nodded solemnly and allowed Una to lead her out, though she sent Sathan several doe-eyed looks of reluctance and dragged her feet.

A silence fell over the barn after Una and Lilin had left and Andreas gathered up the plates without looking at the restrained zafrire.

“This changes nothing between us,” he said finally, as he was turning to leave. “I won’t harm you in front of her, and you won’t speak of it, but be in no doubt that your… _purpose_ here remains the same.”

Sathan nodded. “I understand,” he said. Andreas squinted at him but the zafrire seemed sincere.

“Good,” Andreas grunted and left, locking the door behind him. It was already early evening and he was tired, wanting his own dinner. Looking over towards Una’s house briefly he saw the yellow lights on inside and pressed his lips together, wondering if Lilin was the type of child who went to bed quietly or-

Andreas shook his head at himself and headed inside. He wondered if he’d ever had control of his thoughts or if he just had worse thoughts these days.


	2. Hostage II

A week later, Andreas woke early and lay, staring up at the ceiling. He knew the date without checking because it’d been on his mind all week, a heavy spectre in the back of his mind, emerging whenever he wasn’t distracted.

He couldn’t stand just lying there; the quiet allowed too much space for his thoughts, so, as much as he didn’t really want to move, he dragged himself from the warmth of his bed and went downstairs. Una had laid out a breakfast of fresh bread, cold meats and hot tea as she always did but Andreas’s stomach felt too tight to want any of it so he only drank a little tea, adding a liberal amount of blackberry liquor, before he went to fetch his coat, thinking to walk himself to exhaustion and end up at the inn, where he could drink enough to forget, just for today.

But he paused at the door, remembering the thing he had now that he hadn’t last year: Sathan. And as soon as the zafrire came to his muddled mind, he snatched the barn keys off the sill and strode out towards the barn through the light drizzle.

He felt a sudden lightness of purpose as he walked and his hand twitched into a fist by his side like he was already holding one of his knives, ready to push it into Sathan’s flesh.

Images of blood and gurgling cries swam around Andreas’s head as he got closer, mingling with the thoughts of a fire and-

Andreas fumbled with the keys for the barn and snarled at it in anger, snapping his hand out to hit the damp wood, but he only bruised his knuckles and there wasn’t the same satisfaction in it, though the sharp, stinging pain took his mind away from dark places for a short while.

Andreas got the door open and kicked it closed behind him as he strode in, all but wrenching off his coat before he was heading for the locked cupboard that contained his knives. He itched for Sathan’s blood under his hands and he barely paused to deposit his tools on the table before he snatched up a small knife and came towards Sathan.

Sathan was awake, probably startled by the banging at the door, and his dark yellow eyes tracked Andreas silently. He was trembling slightly but noticeably and Andreas’s heart, already thumping against his ribs, sped up in his chest at the way Sathan’s nostrils flared at Andreas’s approach and how the zafrire pressed himself backwards, like a frightened animal, like prey.

Andreas’s gritted his teeth against the words of accusation, or fury, of grief, that flooded his mouth. He wasn’t here to talk, to rant at the zafrire like a madman, he was here to enact the revenge to which he was rightly due, the revenge the army had granted him when they gifted him with the male.

Andreas’s gaze slid away from the zafrire’s face and instead roamed his body, assessing where he wanted to put his knives. The zafrire’s breathing shuddered in his chest and Andreas eyed the tendon in the zafrire’s neck as it strained. _Ribs_ , he decided, striding over towards Sathan, who tensed further. He pictured pushing the knife in between the ribs, pressing it into muscle and soft insides, pushing it upwards and driving it through Sathan’s heart.

Andreas stilled. He had the point of the knife pressed to Sathan’s bared chest, though he didn’t recall undoing the buttons of the zafrire’s shirt. Sathan was shivering, his head twisted to the side as he waited. Andreas looked down at the knife, pricking Sathan’s dun-yellow skin and beading blood.

He’d imagined pushing the knife through Sathan’s heart. But he couldn’t- he _couldn’t_ do that.

Andreas jerked himself away, almost dropping the knife as he stared at Sathan and tried to drag his thoughts together, even as they squirmed away from him under the haze of bloodlust and grief.

“If I do this today, I’ll kill you,” he said, his gaze resting on Sathan’s bare feet. Andreas didn’t feel quite sane in that moment, felt too distant from himself and from what he’d been about to do. He hadn’t even locked the door. What if Lilin had come in? What he have stopped or would he have tortured, killed, the girl’s uncle right in front of her?

“Fuck,” he hissed and dragged a hand through his hair, his fingers shaking. Sathan stared up at him, silent, and anger returned in a heady rush as Andreas looked at that still, wary face. “You’re not helping,” he snapped, his hand clenching around his knife again before he forced himself to turn his back, moving over to the table to drop his knife, though it was hard to let go of its comforting weight in his hands.

He braced his hands against the edge of the table and closed his eyes briefly. “Tell me her name,” he ordered.

There was a heavy, blank pause. “You mean…Lilin, sir?” the zafrire said slowly.

Lilin. Andreas dragged in a breath. Unwanted images cycled around his head, images of a fire, another time, and he grunted, forcing himself to think instead of what he’d done last year. Drink himself stupid.

Uncaringly, he gathered the knives up and went to dump them back in the cupboard, locking it, before he headed for the door. His feet, which on arrival had seemed light with relief, now seemed heavy and uncoordinated and the distance to the door felt too long.

“Wait!” Sathan said sharply. “Where are you going? Do not hurt her instead, I beg you. I can take it, I will be quiet.”

Andreas stilled at the door and lifted a hand to press it to the wooden wall of the barn, clenching his jaw. The zafrire wouldn’t believe Andreas wouldn’t hurt Lilin, not ever.

“I won’t harm her,” he growled, his back still to the zafrire. “I’ve said it before, and I haven’t hurt her, have I?” He turned sharply to glare at the zafrire who looked back at him with wide eyes. Andreas looked at him and wanted nothing more than to- Andreas cut off his thoughts because he _couldn’t_. “She has no part in this,” Andreas snapped and grabbed the door handle to go outside.

“What is my part in this?” Sathan said, quieter, and Andreas stopped, seething fury rolling up inside him. He turned to face Sathan with anger making his throat tight, his fingernails digging like rivets into his palms.

“ _Your part_?” he demanded, taking two strides back towards the zafrire before he could stop himself. “Your part is that you’re a killer, a murderer of innocent people!” his voice hung in the silence of the barn, sharp and shaking with anger. “You zafrire, you filthy, dishonourable pigs, you slaughtered civilians and burnt our land. Your part in this is that you are evil, damn near soulless.” Except, not soulless, Andreas thought, with the memory of Sathan’s face when he saw Lilin again coming back to him unbidden.

Sathan looked at him and Andreas glared back, hating the zafrire so strongly it hurt. “You think I was a soldier?” Sathan said lowly. Andreas couldn’t immediately comprehend the words but when he did he narrowed his eyes.

“Of course you were,” he snapped. “You were wearing the goddamn uniform, and bloody all down the front.”

Sathan’s lips parted and then closed again. “I was a cook,” he said, his voice flat and steady. Andreas’s stomach tightened into a sick knot. “I’ve never killed in my life. The blood was from rabbits I’d slaughtered the morning before-”

“Liar!” Andreas cried sharply. “Shut up- you’re a goddamn _liar_!”

“I’m not lying!” Sathan shouted back, leaning forwards in the chair he was bound to, his face twisted with indignation and emotion. “Is that what you’ve been doing this? Because you think I was a soldier, a killer? My uniform _says_ ‘cook’ on it, did you not see? Or did you just not care?”

Andreas stared at him, something like horror rising in him. Even if- even if Sathan had been a cook, he’d fed the soldiers that had killed- he was still guilty- he-

Andreas choked and turned around, heading towards the chest where he kept the white rags to bind Sathan’s injuries, the injuries Andreas caused when he tortured him. He thought he remembered throwing Sathan’s uniform in there, right back when he first got him, because he’d not wanted to see that grey material for a second longer. He’d planned to burn it, but he’d forgotten, hadn’t he?

Andreas knelt down in front of the chest, feeling sickened. Of all the days Sathan could have chosen to come out with this- this _lie_ , and it had to be a lie. He rifled through the material, going still when he saw the grey fabric of Sathan’s uniform lying crumpled innocuously at the bottom. Sathan was silent except for his breathing but Andreas felt the weight of the zafrire’s gaze on his back like something physically pressing down on his shoulders.

He slowly pulled the uniform out and his eyes roamed over the front. Nothing. Relief swelled briefly, under he turned the shirt over and saw that ‘cook’ had been written in black ink between the shoulder blades. The breath rushed out of him at once and his shoulders slumped as he dropped his hands to his lap and stared blankly ahead. He felt numb. There was a distant horror at himself at the edge of his consciousness but he couldn’t feel it yet.

Getting clumsily to his feet, he left the uniform on the floor and the chest open as he walked towards the door, feeling ill. He got outside, the cold air shocking him briefly and he remembered he’d left his coat, but didn’t go back for it. His fingers trembled as he locked the door and walked out towards the wildlands. The cold slipped through and under his shirt with icy fingers without his coat on to stop it but Andreas thought he deserved it.

He walked until his face was numb with the wind and his fingers were chapped red, his eyes blurred with the drizzle that had thickened to rain. He walked down into a valley he didn’t recognise and stumbled into the first inn, only to realise he had nothing but small change in his pocket. He struggled with cold fingers to count out enough for a heated glass of something alcoholic; the cheapest they had, and then slumped down in a corner to drink it, his hands stinging as the blood returned to them in increments.

Andreas left when he was warmer, striking back out in roughly the direction he’d come, though he hadn’t been paying enough attention to where he was going and he ended up on the wrong side of town, meaning that it was somewhere close to dusk by the time he got home. He was exhausted and colder than he’d ever been, except on nights he’d spent under the winter stars as a soldier, when he’d been so cold he felt like a mass of nothing but numbness and stinging, cold that went down into his bones.

“Sir!” Una cried when he came into the house, surprising him vaguely, but he was too out of it and fatigued to even startle. “Oh gods, you’re soaked! Please, change, sir, I’ll warm some broth.”

Andreas didn’t even manage a grunt as he walked past her and all but dragged himself up the stairs. He peeled sopping clothes off him, dropping them in the bathtub. They were ruined anyway, sodden with mud and the trousers torn by gorse at the ends.

Shivering violently, he towelled himself off roughly before changing into something dry and warm, feeling like he was dressing a doll rather than himself. Or a child, he thought, as he fumbled to do up the buttons on his shirt and remembered suddenly, vividly, taking over doing up his son’s shirt buttons.

Andreas made a wounded sound of pain and sank down against the bathroom wall, curling his arms around his knees to sob as all the memories of his son, everything he’d tried so hard not to think about, overwhelmed him.

“My boy,” he choked, shaking and curling his fingers to dig into his arms. “My boy.”

*

Andreas passed out cold before Una had had a chance to offer him anything to eat and he woke the next morning, groggy and thick-headed with a cold. He lay in bed, sick, for most of the day and ended up giving Una the key to the barn.

“He needs to given food and drink,” he croaked, his voice a mess. “ _Don’t_ untie him. He will have soiled himself but I’ll deal with it when I’m well. Keep Lilin away.”

“Yes, sir,” Una said, disappearing downstairs and leaving Andreas to sink back into sleep.

 

He woke to a tugging on his sleeve and turned, blinking, to see Lilin’s wide eyes looking back at him. The sight of her pained him and he turned away. Her childishness reminded him painfully of his son, and her yellow eyes were an exact replica of Sathan’s – Sathan who didn’t deserve what Andreas had done.

“Mimi Una says you’re sick and not to bother you,” Lilin whispered. “But I thought you might be sad. Dondi always said my Amie was sick when she was really sad. She liked for me to come and see her.”

Andreas closed his eyes against her soft kindness, his throat closing up as he came dangerously close to tears. He felt the bed shift and startled, turning to see that Lilin had crawled onto the bed and, before he knew what was happening, she had wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her hair spilling over Andrea’s chin.

“Lilin,” he said roughly and tried to gently push her away. “I’m alright. You should go back to Una.”

“But I want you to take me to my lurndi,” she said, her voice muffled from where she was clinging to him. “And Una says we can’t go while you’re sick.”

Andreas huffed a breath of tired amusement. She was a clever girl, bravely coming up here to try and get what she wanted.

“I’ll take you soon,” Andreas said thickly, patting her awkwardly on the shoulder.

Lilin pulled back to pout at him, her eyes intent on him in that way that children had, before they realised it wasn’t considered polite. Andreas felt weak and small under those yellow eyes. _You would hate me if you knew what I’d done to Sathan_ , he thought wearily.

“You _are_ sad,” Lilin proclaimed and plopped herself down so that she was sat next to him. “It’s alright, I get sad too. Lurndi’s too stern, dondi used to tickle me and give me piggyback rides when he wasn’t working, and amie gave me hugs when she wasn’t sad. Why are you sad?”

Andreas swallowed and looked away from her. “I…had a family too,” he said finally, the words heavy. “A little boy, like you.”

“I’m not a boy!” Lilin said indignantly and Andreas gave her a watery smile.

“About your age, I meant,” he said, looking out the window. “He’s…gone like your parents, now.”

Lilin looked at him with zafrire eyes when he turned back to her, but there was only childish worry in her face and Andreas didn’t blame her. He couldn’t blame Sathan either, now, not really, and that left only himself to blame, not that he was left only with his empty home and a heart full of twisted anger.

“When will you stop being sad?” Lilin said after a moment. “Amie used to stay in bed for an hour or maybe two and then she’d be happy again, but you’ve been in bed for _ages_.”

Andreas sighed and rubbed his rumpled hair. “I am sick, Lilin,” he said. “I got too cold the other day and it made me ill. But I’ll be up soon, alright? And I’ll take you to see your lurndi right away.”

Lilin released a dramatic sigh but then nodded ad Andreas smiled at her. “Be good for Una, won’t you?” he said. Lilin nodded again. “You like it here, don’t you?” he asked after a moment. “Una’s nice to you?”

“Yes yes much nicer than the people you bought me off,” she said matter-of-factly and Andreas’s stomach twisted a little to see how easily she accepted that she was something to be bought and sold.

“Good,” he said. “Off with you, then, kiddo, before Una catches you here and tells you off.” Lilin scrambled obediently off the bed and headed towards the door, pausing to give him a little wave. Andreas waved back and then she had slipped away, leaving the room feeling like vacuum without her infectious energy.

Andreas sighed, his throat sore from the talking. He’d allow himself another sleep and then he would have to get up to tend to Sathan, even though there was nothing less he wanted to do than face the zafrire.

*

Andreas cleared the bathroom of sharp things whilst Una ran a bath for the zafrire, as he’d asked.

“You can go now,” Andreas said to her, when she hovered to see if there was anything else he wanted.

“Yes, sir,” she acknowledged and went to go.

“Oh,” Andreas remembered and she paused. “Please keep Lilin indoors at your house for the next half-hour or so,” he instructed. “I’m bringing the zafrire in here and I don’t want her seeing him until he’s clean.”

“Of course, sir,” she said and headed out.

Andreas took the things he thought could be dangerous out of the bathroom and dropped them down on his bed, before he headed to his wardrobe to find some fresh clothes for Sathan. The zafrire hadn’t been moved from his chair for a day and a half and Andreas knew he was going to be a mess.

Once he’d put some clothes in the bathroom alongside the towels and soap, the bath water steaming silently, he headed over to the barn. His stomach had been tight with nerves all morning but he’d been resolutely ignoring it. Still, his steps slowed as he approached the barn door and he stood in front of it for a minute or more, dreading seeing those yellow eyes again, of seeing the harm he’d caused in the zafrire’s twitches and wariness, and the uniform, which Andreas expected was still lying on the floor, unless Una had put it away.

Andreas fingered the key for a moment more before he opened the door, his hand surprisingly steady, and let himself in.

The barn had a distinct, sour reek and Andreas wrinkled his nose and suppressed his guilt. _Fix this first_ , he told himself. _Then you can wallow in self-pity later_.

Sathan looked up, tensing when he saw Andreas and Andreas tried to keep his expression flat. He glanced over at the uniform and decided to leave it there.

“Is Lilin well?” Sathan said before Andreas could pull himself together enough to say anything.

Andreas nodded. “She is fine. She wants to see you.” His voice sounded rough from his cold. He ignored how Sathan flinched when Andreas came over, beginning to unbind the zafrire from the chair, before chaining the male’s wrists together like he usually did when he took Sathan out to relieve himself, or for exercise.

Andreas saw Sathan part his lips like he wanted to speak as Andreas was dealing with his restraints, but the zafrire ended up staying silent and Andreas was glad.

The smell was worse when Andreas eased Sathan to his feet, gripping his elbows, and even Sathan grimaced, blood darkening his face as he flushed in humiliation. Andreas exhaled tightly and reluctantly put an arm around Sathan’s back. His instinctive reactions of disgust were difficult to work through, even though he knew that Sathan wasn’t a killer like he’d thought, and that his present state was entirely Andreas’s fault.

“Come on,” he said gruffly. “There is a bucket outside for the worst, and then a bath inside. Then you can see Lilin.” Andreas knew it was guilt that was making him gentler towards the zafrire but the thought of being rough now made him feel unspeakably heavy.

Sathan inclined his head in acceptance or acknowledgement and pliantly let Andreas help him outside on shaky legs.

In the past, Andreas had only used the outside bucket, which filled with rain water from a drain on the roof, to clean Sathan of blood and sweat, so it was with some familiarity that Andreas doused Sathan’s trousers and legs in cold water.

Sathan was shivering by the time Andreas was done and Andreas’s arms were wet up to his elbows and he led the zafrire into the warmth of the house, the quiet amniotic with only the sound of Sathan’s breathing and the water dripping off him onto the floorboards.

Andreas awkwardly jerked his head upstairs and guided Sathan, who looked pale, up to the bathroom.

“I-” Andreas looked down and took the key to Sathan’s cuffs out of his pocket. “You’d like to wash alone, I presume?”

Sathan looked at him silently for a second before simply nodding and Andreas eyed Sathan. Sathan might take this opportunity to try and kill him, Andreas knew, but he didn’t think he would. And he was feeling angry enough at himself that he was inclined to make reckless decisions.

So he freed Sathan’s hands and Sathan looked down at his bruised wrists, before fixing Andreas with a cold. For a moment, Andreas thought he’d misjudged, but Sathan didn’t come at him.

“You know that I will never forgive you,” Sathan said, his voice painfully even. Andreas looked down at the heavy cuffs in his hands and inclined his head.

“I know,” he said, and slipped away, leaving Sathan to get clean alone.

He walked away to throw the cuffs to the back of his wardrobe where he wouldn’t have to look at them and sat down on his bed to rub his hands over his face, staring at the floor between his feet. He felt like never moving again.

Twenty or so minutes later, Andreas tensed, his eyes coming open from where they’d fallen closed, his head lying on his hand. Fast footsteps hurried up the stairs and Andreas’s mouth tugged up reluctantly at the side. He knew those footsteps.

The door was pushed open and Lilin’s head poked through to give him a huge, infectious grin.

“Unnie says I can see lurndi soon!” she exclaimed and came fully inside to bounce around the room, vibrating with excitement. Andreas’s smile was heavy, knowing full well that it was his fault she had been denied seeing her uncle for the last few days.

“What does Una think about being called Unnie?” he said instead and Lilin smirked cheekily at him. She was so much braver and energetic than Andreas’s little boy had been. Andreas had loved the child with his whole heart but the boy had been painfully shy and Andreas had never known how to remedy it, except to try to coax him out of it every time he clung to his father’s trousers, looking up at Andreas with those big, trusting eyes, the eyes that had told Andreas that his boy knew he’d been safe, as long as his father was near.

Lilin was suddenly in front of him and Andreas startled as she took hold of his sleeve. Her face was suddenly solemn.

“Are you sad again?” she asked.

“I suppose so,” Andreas said and tried to smile but failed.

Lilin cocked her head and reached up to press a finger to the edges of his mouth, making him startle, before she pushed his mouth up gently into a facsimile of a smile. But it became real and the fascination on Lilin’s face as she pulled his mouth into a smile and Andreas laughed lowly and brushed her hands away.

“You cannot make people happy, Lil,” he said gently. “That’s not your job. People can only make themselves happy.”

Lilin shrugged, a smile still on her face. “I made you smile then,” she said proudly. “A real one.”

“Yes you did,” Andreas conceded and mussed her hair, making her squeal as she pushed his hands away.

Andreas looked up as the door opened again and his smile fell instantly away.

“Lurndi!” Lilin yelled and spun around to jump into Sathan’s arms. Sathan, his hair damp and dressed in Andreas’s clothes, gave a rumbling laugh and barely managed to catch her, setting her quickly down with a grunt.

“You’re too heavy for me, Lil,” he chided but he was smiling. Andreas pressed a hand to his mouth as a sudden rush of emotion made him choke, tears making his eyes sting.

He came quickly to his feet and Sathan tensed instantly, grasping Lilin closer to him protectively. Andreas clenched his jaw, fighting against tears, and slipped past them out of the door. He’d never have a child of his own again, never watch them grow up as he’d always wanted to.

Andreas escaped outside to gasp at the cold air, collapsing back against the wall as he tried to breathe through the ache in his chest and the crushing pain, all the grief he’d been avoiding feeling as tangible as a band of iron around his lungs.

When he could breathe again, the cold air making him shiver, Andreas slipped back inside for his coat, not wanting to worsen his cold, and set out. Walking made him feel a little bit alive again; made him feel like he was like a rabbit or a stag, just another animal crossing the landscape under the big open sky.

Andreas didn’t return until dinner time, when he walked in to find Lilin sat up at the dining table with Una carrying hot dishes in her hands. Sathan was hovering, leaning against a wall. He crossed his arms when Andreas came in and Andreas slowed, eying the scene as he slid off his damp coat.

“I hope you don’t mind, sir,” Una said, looking over at him with cheeks flushed from the heat of the kitchen. Her thick hair had streaks of grey in it now, but Andreas saw a flash of how happy and bright she’d been when looking after his boy. He hadn’t seen her look like that in a while and even as pain flashed through him at the memory, he thought, too, that his child’s death had affected more people than just himself.

“It’s fine,” he said stiffly. He came over to the table and saw that there were only two places set and he glanced up at Sathan and Una.

Una fidgeted with a tea towel between her hands. “He said you wouldn’t want him eating with you, sir,” she said, nodding towards Sathan and Andreas looked up.

The sight of the zafrire still sent a shock through him: part the instinctive fear response of a soldier to seeing a zafrire, and partly just Sathan himself, with his flat yellow eyes telling Andreas that they would rightfully hold him as guilty for as long as they looked at him. Andreas blinked. Sathan could hardly hate him more than he hated himself, he thought bitterly.

“Una, please set two more places. You are both welcome to join us, if you wish.” Andreas directed the last words at Sathan who looked steadily back.

“Lurndi, come sit!” Lilin urged, as Andreas sat down on the other side of the table. Una bustled happily about, laying the two places, before bringing in more food for them.

“This looks lovely,” Andreas said. He offered a serving spoon to Lilin so that she could help herself, which she did with gusto, scooping out a huge dollop of potato followed by piling as many dumplings on her plate as she could fit on.

“Lilin!” Una tutted as she sat down beside the child and tapped her hand. “Leave some for everyone else.”

The only place left was beside Andreas and when Lilin stopped shoving too-hot food into her mouth and begged her uncle to join them again, Sathan sat very stiffly down beside Andreas.

Lilin and Una chatted, Lilin teasing and Una gently reproving, though she was smiling. Sathan and Andreas mostly ate in silence, Andreas tensing when Sathan spoke up roughly to thank Una for the meal, complimenting her cooking. Andreas reached for the wine a little while later, only for Sathan to flinch so violently that his chair creaked.

The table went briefly silent as Andreas froze, before slowing his movements, picking the jug up before retracting his arm. He didn’t look at Sathan and he knew Sathan was keeping his head down. Una awkwardly picked conversation back up again and the tension eased but Andreas’s heart was thudding and he only stayed a few more minutes before he wiped his mouth with his napkin and softly excused himself, moving slowly as he stood up before he left the room to go upstairs.

He heard a chair scrape and then footsteps behind him and, briefly, he expected a dinner knife to the back, but the footsteps stopped and when he stopped to look back, Sathan was just looking at him.

“I have given you opportunity to kill me,” he said. “Why haven’t you?”

“Hush,” Sathan hissed, glancing back towards the dining room, before his expression went flat again. “If you wish to have this conversation now, let’s go to another room.”

“Fine,” Andreas said and led the way to his office, sliding down into a chair under the window tiredly. Sathan lent against his desk, his head turned to look at him.

“Is that what releasing me was, then?” he asked, an edge to his voice. “Suicide by proxy? You were expecting me to go rabid and murder you?”

Andreas sighed and rubbed his forehead, a headache developing, the remains of his cold.

“Not exactly,” he said. “I don’t understand why you never made an attempt, but considering that you didn’t, I guessed that you might not attack me if I released you.” He laughed sourly, with no humour. “And I’m tired and don’t care as much as I should.”

“I will not murder you,” Sathan said coldly. “Even as you deserve it.” Andreas exhaled, closing his eyes briefly. He did deserve, the zafrire was right.

“And if I was to release you?” He gestured with his hand.

“I wouldn’t leave without Lilin, you know that,” Sathan said.

Andreas raised his head to meet the zafrire’s yellow eyes. “And with her?” he said, even as the thought of letting go of the only brightness in his life made him want to claw his tongue out for offering it to Sathan.

Sathan’s eyes widened briefly. But he slowly shook his head. “Where would we go?” he said, low but with a bitter edge to his words. “How would I feed her? There aren’t any free zafrire remaining, thanks to your genocide. What kind of a life would she have, on the run?” He narrowed his eyes slightly at Andreas and Andreas stiffened a little at the loathing there. “You may torture me and I still wouldn’t run, if that is what you are asking.”

Dinner lay heavily in Andreas’s stomach. “I have no wish to hurt you further,” he said thickly.

“Torture,” Sathan snapped. “Can you even say it? And you may not wish it now, but you get angry again and I will be convenient, won’t I?” Sathan’s face twitched like he regretted saying so much and he turned away sharply, his face drawn up in a tight scowl. “I love Lilin,” Sathan said, just as Andreas was trying to form words. “I would endure anything for her.”

“I know,” Andreas said heavily. He picked at a bit of loose stitching on the arm of the leather chair he was sat in. “I had a child once, a boy.” His throat closed up over the words and he blinked. “I would have done anything for him, too.” Andreas tried to shake the memories free, tensing to get to his feet but Sathan’s voice interrupted him.

“What happened?” he asked evenly. Andreas looked up sharply and sagged back into his chair, running a hand through his hair.

“He died,” he managed. “In a fire, while I was at war.” He could see the blackened shell of the building now, leaves of pages from the books in his sister’s library had been the only moving thing, the air thick with smoke and death so that his eyes stung with the acrid stench of it. “My boy was staying with my sister. Zafire rebels burnt it, and half the town.” Una had been at the market and she’d barely escaped alive. She’d run to the house, she’d told Andreas afterwards between sobs, but it’d been too late.

“So there is more than racism to your hatred of me,” Sathan said, his words as cutting as ever, but his eyebrows were drawn very slightly together, like he was thinking, though Andreas had no idea what.

Andreas just nodded, feeling drained. Sathan was right and Andreas had nothing to say. What felt like a minute or more passed in silence before Andreas sighed and went to drag himself to his feet.

“I will never forgive you,” Sathan said abruptly and Andreas paused briefly before just nodding. He knew that already. Then Sathan moved in front of him and Andreas tensed a little. “I will _never_ trust you,” Sathan continued icily, pinning Andreas with his stare. “But,” the word was bitten out, “this- you- this place is best for Lilin. You have, as far as I can tell, kept her safe and fed when I know she would have fared much worse elsewhere.” Sathan fell briefly silent, with only their shared breathing audible. Then he lifted his eyes. “And for that I cannot repay you. I may loathe you, but I understand, I understand-” Sathan broke off and seemed to be disinclined to say anymore. Andreas’s hands twitched as he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“I know you won’t believe me,” he said finally. “And you have every reason not to,” he added quickly, “but I- I swear I will not harm,” he swallowed and corrected himself, remembering Sathan’s earlier words. “Will not torture you again. I oath that to you.”

“You’re right, I don’t believe you,” Sathan said. “How can it matter to you so much that I was only a cook? You were willing to kill me before. I am still zafrire, as you call us.”

“I thought you were a killer,” Andreas said heavily. “Of course it matters.”

Sathan exhaled with a hiss and shook his head. “We did not choose to be killers, any zafrire,” he snapped. “You were trying to exterminate our kind!”

“I- don’t- zafrire killed my _son_ , killed the only person that mattered to me,” Andreas snarled back, before forcibly reining his temper back in. “I shouldn’t have done what I did to you, I will not do it again.”

He moved to leave, only for Sathan to catch his wrist. “See that you keep your promise, then,” he said. “For Lilin’s sake, at least.”

Andreas inclined his head. “We have a…truce, then?” he said quietly, his eyes flicking over Sathan’s strained face. The zafrire had been through as much as- _more_ than Andreas had and Andreas couldn’t help but feel something like respect for the cold, controlled zafrire.

Sathan jerked a nod. “By necessity,” he said impassively. “Yes, I suppose so.”

“Very well,” Andreas said quietly and Sathan released his wrist so that Andreas could leave, his heart juddering in his chest. He headed back towards the dining room, towards Lilin, who reminded him of his boy in the sweetest, most painful ways. But it was a pain he would endure, because he knew already that he would die, or kill, for her, just as Sathan would. Sathan would tolerate Andreas, because he had to, and they would make it work, for her sake.

 

**Author's Note:**

> so...what did you guys think?
> 
> Come talk to me on tumblr at maqcyloup! My anon asks are always open!


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